


No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin

by silverstardust



Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [4]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: A minute of "oof ouch" followed by extreme softness, F/F, Gay Panic, Gay Rights Babyyyyy, Heteronormativity, Hurt and comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sappho (fl. 600 BCE) Poetry, Sexuality Crisis, Shortburn, Social Standards, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vulnerability, implied asexuality, very mild, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: Too Ticki’s cabin rested in the woods, at the very edge of what was considered Moomin Valley. Tucked away by a spattering of pine and oak trees, and built by hand, it was a small cabin, but a cozy one, homely, with its dark fern green curtains, and furniture carved from dark oak with accents of navy blue cushions and tablecloth. Grey lace and stitchings accented the dark wood and navy blue further, a medley of dark colors that welcomed the shadows of storm clouds of winter, her favorite season, while still not letting in the cold and dreariness of winter in.Something as bright as Mumble was stood out amongst the muted colors, with hair like a river of fire and skin like fresh cream, smooth and pale, and the baby pink blush high on her cheeks and around her puffy, teary eyes. In Too Ticki’s cabin, Mumble stood out like a fiery sunset with cotton candy clouds over an inky dark ocean.“Oh dear,” Too Ticki said.For many crowns of violets/ and roses/ at my side you put on--July 30, 2020 Update: A heavily edited version of this story is in the works for publication. Any publication of this story or a story similar is authorized.
Relationships: Mymlans dotter | The Mymble’s Daughter/Too-ticki | Too-Ticky
Series: The Trails Which We Leave Behind [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495559
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin

**Author's Note:**

> If a girl kisses another girl with no one to bear witness, does that revelation make a sound?

Too Ticki’s cabin rested in the woods, at the very edge of what was considered Moomin Valley. Tucked away by a spattering of pine and oak trees, and built by hand, it was a small cabin, but a cozy one, homely, with its dark fern green curtains, and furniture carved from dark oak with accents of navy blue cushions and tablecloth. Grey lace and stitchings accented the dark wood and navy blue further, a medley of dark colors that welcomed the shadows of storm clouds of winter, her favorite season, while still not letting in the cold and dreariness of winter in.

Something as bright as Mumble was stood out amongst the muted colors, with hair like a river of fire and skin like fresh cream, smooth and pale, and the baby pink blush high on her cheeks and around her puffy, teary eyes. In Too Ticki’s cabin, Mumble stood out like a fiery sunset with cotton candy clouds over an inky dark ocean.

“Oh dear,” Too Ticki said.

Mumble said nothing in return, shoulders heaving and tears crystal clear streaking down her rosy cheeks. Dirt and streaks of green grass stains marred the palms of her hands and the knees and soles of her torn stockings. A few errant leaves and twigs were tangled in Mumble’s loose hair, usually braided and pulled up, like she had run here the entire way, with no care for who or what she ran into or tripped over.

Too Ticki held out the mug of tea she had just poured for herself to enjoy. Mumble stumbled forward and took it, collapsing into one of the two chairs at the table. She wrinkled her nose upon taking a sip, and Too Ticki smiled softly at her, offering her the sugar bowl. Too Ticki stood up and retrieved the bucket of water from on top of the stove as Mumble dropped a handful of sugar cubes into the tea (four, specifically, as always), and Too Ticki took the bucket to the bathroom. She dumped half of the hot water into the bathtub, letting it heat up the rest of the water already poured inside as she dug through the cabinet. There were a few bottles from the very back that Too Ticki had been holding on to, and she poured one into the water as she set the other on the counter. The perfume of the sweet smelling soap wafted into the air with the steam, and Too Ticki took a jar from the shelf above the counter, sprinkling the dried mint leaves and rose and violet petals into the water.

Too Ticki stepped back to the living room. “Cmon, dear. A warm bath will make you feel better.”

Mumble nodded, rubbing her eyes as she stood up. Too Ticki gently took ahold of her arm and guided her into the bathroom. As Too Ticki poured the rest of the hot water into the bath, Mumble pulled off her ruined stockings and tossed them aside. Then Mumble pulled her hair over her shoulder and turned around, and Too Ticki unclasped the buttons of her dress for her. As Mumble squirmed out of her petticoat and stepped into the tub, Too Ticki gathered the discarded clothes and put them in a basket with the rest of the dirty laundry.

“I think your stockings might be done for. The knees and soles are tattered. Did you run here without shoes?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got others.”

“Alright then. There’s hair soap on the counter, and holler if you need anything.” Too Ticki picked up the basket of dirty laundry and carried it out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. The laundry basket was set in the corner of the living room to deal with the next day, and Too Ticki dug through her dresser, trying to find anything that might fit Mumble, eventually setting on an old nightshirt that could serve well enough as a dress if they tied it around the middle. Too Ticki set the dress aside on the bed and returned back to her living room, settling down in a chair and pouring a second mug of tea for herself. (Mumble’s tea, along with everything else about her, was sweet enough to give her cavities.)

After such a long amount of time that Too Ticki knew the water had long gone cold, Mumble emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a large fluffy white towel. She disappeared into Too Ticki’s bedroom, and Too Ticki pushed her empty mug aside, getting up to follow her.

Mumble laughed slightly, eyes still glassy with tears, as she pulled the nightshirt over her head. “Too Ticki, your shirts are much too large for me.”

“I thought we could tie it with a thin scarf, like a dress.” Too Ticki picked up one of her thinner scarves and threw it around Mumble’s middle before neatly tying it in a bow in the back. “There we are, it’s like a dress now. Why don’t you grab a book and sit down, and I’ll brush your hair for you.”

Mumble gave her a watery smile, but grabbed a worn, lavender colored book from the nightstand and sat down on the bed. Too Ticki scooped up the towel from the floor and sat behind her, dutifully drying her hair enough to be brushed with ease. Mumble didn’t speak again until Too Ticki ran the comb through her hair for the first time.

“He wants children.”

“Pardon?”

“The Inspector. He wants children.”

The Inspector was a rather nice young man, Too Ticki thought. He had helped her more than once in re-tarring her roof so the snow melt wouldn’t drip in. She’d also heard that he had turned a blind eye to the shenanigans that Mumble’s younger brother got up to, as long as no one got hurt and there wasn’t any severe property damage. But he seemed like a very family driven man, and while that wasn’t a bad thing necessarily…

“And you don’t want children?”

Mumble shook her head just the slightest bit, in order not to disturb Too Ticki’s brushing. “No. No, I don’t want any children. But I ought to.”

“You ought to?”

“I’m a mymlan. And a woman. I ought to get married to a boy and have lots and lots of kids like my mother, and like her mother, and like all the other mymlan mothers before her. That’s what all mymlan do and it’s what all women are supposed to do, so I ought to do it but I don’t want to.” Mymble left the lavender book open in her lap, arms wrapping around herself as she hunched over slightly. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be responsible for another human being. I don’t want my life to revolve around someone else for years upon years, and not be able to do the things I want to do. I don’t want something invading me and making me lose control of my body.”

“Well, then don’t have children.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not? If you don’t want children, you don’t have to have any.”

Mumble shook her head again. “All men want children. And that’s fair, they haven’t got anything to lose by it, but if I get married they’ll expect me to have babies. And they’ll want me to be a housewife, they’ll want me to cook and clean and mind the children and mend and wash and-”

“Slow your breathing now, or you’re going to have an attack like your sister.” Too Ticki set the comb aside and reached out, comfortingly rubbing Mumble’s shoulders. Mumble took a series of slow, shaky breaths, gripping the sleeves of her shirt.

“So what I’m getting at here is that you don’t want to have children. And you don’t want to get married, because then you’ll be expected to have children. But you feel like you ought to because that’s what everyone expects.”

Mumble nodded, taking another deep breath and wiping her eyes.

“Okay, then don’t get married.”

“But I have to,” Mumble weakly protested. “My mama expects it, the Moomins too, and Snufkin jokes about it.”

Too Ticki split Mumble’s hair into three, beginning to braid it. “Your mother is encouraging you because she thinks it’s making you happy, and she wants you to do what makes you happy. The day the Moomins aren't accepting of anything from anyone is the day the apocalypse will start as far as I'm concerned, and third, little brothers are supposed to be pains in the ass, and he probably sees it as fair game because you tease him about Moomin all the time. If you genuinely told him to stop because it upset you, he would. He’s Snufkin, not Stinky, yknow.”

“Ugh, Stinky.” Mumble rolled her eyes and Too Ticki chuckled, taking an old purple ribbon and tying the end of the plait in a bow.

“Besides,” Too Ticki spoke again, “If every woman in the world got married, we wouldn’t have midwives or doctors and modern medicine, or poets and authors and musicians. And I think their jobs are pretty important, aren’t they?”

“I suppose…”

“Now, all of that being said, what do you want to do then? What makes you happy?”

“I don’t know what would make me happy right now,” Mumble admitted. “I’ve only ever done things because I thought I ought to. But I want the freedom to find what makes me happy.”

“Well, then do what you want to do, and don’t listen to others. You’ll find what makes you happy that way.”

Mumble smiled softly- a watery smile, but a real one. “Thank you, Ticki.”

“I didn’t do much, just pointed you in the right direction.”

“Still. You’re my best friend, and I feel like I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, it’s good to have someone like that.”

Mumble nodded but didn’t say anything, running her thumb along a page of the book in her lap. At a single glance, even at an angle, Too Ticki recognized the book- “If Not, Winter”, a book that contained all of what was left of the poetry written by Sappho of Lesbos.

  


_For many crowns of violets_

_And roses_

_At my side you put on_

_And many woven garlands_

_Made of flowers_

__

_Around your soft throat_

__

  


__

“I don’t think I ever loved the Inspector,” Mumble said in a whisper so quiet that Too Ticki had to strain to hear it above the sound of their breathing.

“Oh.”

“I don’t think I ever liked any boy. I just dated them because I was supposed to,” Mumble whispered again, somehow even quieter.

“Oh,” Too Ticki said again, and for a terrifying moment she felt like her heart was in her throat and that she was going to throw it up. Mumble closed the book and set it aside, turning around on the bed so that she was facing Too Ticki.

“You really do mean so much to me, Ticki.”

“Oh,” said Too Ticki yet again, voice reaching octaves higher than her normal voice, because she couldn’t really think at all, much less think of anything else to say, and this singular moment seemed fragile, ready to break at a moment’s notice, and she didn’t want it to break, didn’t want to disturb this delicate moment-

Mumble smiled again- still watery, but real, shy, a bit embarrassed and a bit hopeful. So Too Ticki swallowed her heart-turned-butterflies back down, gently cupping her hands around Mumble’s tear stained cheeks, flushed pink and red and- and-

And hesitated again, momentarily short-circuiting when she felt Mumble’s breath against her lips, almost touching but just not quite, waiting for the moment where she snaps her eyes open and is greeted with a new day but-

But nothing like the sort happened, and Mumble’s eyes slowly fluttered closed, and she let her face be held in Too Ticki’s hands, skin delicate and smooth, waiting.

And Too Ticki closed the gap.

  


Everything was shades of violet now. The flowers in Too Ticki’s new garden and the butterflies that fluttered around it, flitting from flower to flower. The ribbons in Mumble’s loose, tangled hair and the shoelaces of the hand-me-down boots she’d acquired, the delicate violets painstakingly hand embroidered into the collars of Mumble’s shirts and down the sides of pants made of a strange foreign material called “jeans” from a country across the vast ocean. The sheets of their shared bed were violet, and so was the bed tram and the pillow trims, the bruises on their knees from tumbles from a day of adventuring and exploring what there was to offer on the outskirts of Moomin Valley, the tips of Mumble’s fingers and the corners of her mouth, stained with juice from the summer blackberries and cake icing as Too Ticki tried to dab it on Mumble’s nose. The raging summer storm clouds and its furious lightning strikes were shades of violet.

The wine that they smuggled out of Moominhouse with a conspiratorial wink from both Mymble, and the plums they shared from the fruit tree in Too Ticki’s garden were shades of violet too. Mumble’s eyes were shades of violet, hidden and painted by shadows when they slipped away in the night, away from other party-goers, slipping around a corner or into a bedroom or behind a large set of drapes, the kisses they stole from each other then were violet, and the quiet words, barely a whisper, that they exchanged in those private moments, hidden away from the rest of the world, were violet. The poetry books that Mumble began to collect and read from every night by candle light, words velvety soft and dripping from her lips like precious gems, were shades of violet, and it is always only so long until violets were doodled in the margins in the books by thin delicate hands when Mumble became lost in thought, little verses of her own poetry hidden between the petals and leaves.

Everything was shades of violet.

And it was beautiful.


End file.
